


The Lady and the Direwolf

by turtle_paced



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_paced/pseuds/turtle_paced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Keep is not a place for direwolves, not that proper ladies keep direwolves for pets anyway, but Sansa won't let either stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady and the Direwolf

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for [redacted]. What can I say, I couldn't get them a puppy.

Once they left the King, Sansa could barely stop herself from running to Lady for comfort. _Why would the queen want to kill her?_ The thought brought tears to her eyes. _Why?_

But she was a good girl, as good as she was training Lady to be, and so she followed Vayon Poole back to their rooms with Arya. Her elbow hurt where she’d banged it against the ground when Arya knocked her over, and her belly hurt where her sister had driven her fists in, but she gave no sign of it.

Their father had been very angry. Not with her, she didn’t think, and not with Arya, but with Queen Cersei. And with King Robert too. Even now he had stayed behind for some reason, though Sansa knew he had barely slept since Arya had run.

And Joff. Her prince had been so angry too. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, he looked so angry. He looked like he hated Arya, and her father, and even her. She needed him to love her. He was supposed to love her. 

When they returned to their own rooms, Vayon Poole ordered food and a bath for Arya, and instructed Sansa to stay up for now. “Your lord father will want to speak with you both,” he said. “Yes, before you go to your beds.”

Sansa was ever so tired, and she wanted to go to Lady, but she obeyed. Even Arya looked as though she might fall asleep at the table. She had not yet gone to her bath, and Sansa wrinkled her nose at the smell.

Father came in not very long afterwards, for which Sansa was glad. “We need to discuss this,” he said, and sat down at the table across from him. “Right now.”

There was steel in his voice. Sansa did not meet his eyes. There were times where Father could be persuaded, but this did not sound like one of them.

“You should both know how very fortunate you are,” Father said. “If we had found the king in a worse mood, he might well have allowed the Lannister woman to kill Sansa’s direwolf.” He turned chill eyes on Arya. “Is that what you wanted to happen, Arya?” 

“No, Father,” Arya said.

He turned his gaze to Sansa next. “You told me a different account of what happened two days ago. If you had been believed tonight, Arya might have been punished severely. Is that what _you_ wanted, Sansa?” 

_Arya always ruins everything,_ she thought. “No, Father,” she said. She just wanted Arya to not ruin things. She didn’t want her _hurt._

He sighed. “We are going to a very dangerous place, my girls, with very dangerous people. The queen, in particular, will not forget what happened today, and I doubt Prince Joffrey will either. You must both understand this. As for your behaviour, I think you can both imagine what your lady mother would have to say about it.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Sansa burst out. “I didn’t!” She just wanted to go for a ride with her prince, and then stupid Arya –

“Didn’t you?” her father asked. “I have told you before that it is dishonourable to lie.”

Arya was glaring at her too. Arya had already hit her this evening for what she said. It wasn’t fair. 

“But Father!”

“Enough. None of us have acquitted ourselves well in this matter.” He faced Sansa. “I am sorry for waking you, and for asking you to speak against Joffrey so abruptly. It is a difficult thing to do, yet I do expect it of you, no less than I expect it of your brothers. If you are to be queen yourself one day, act as a queen should.”

His words made Sansa’s cheeks heat with shame. She tried to speak, to accept his apology and to deny that she would be a poor queen, but found nothing. _I don’t want Joffrey to hate me_ , she wanted to explain. _That’s all._  

But her father had already turned to Arya. To her, he said, “Your friend Mycah is dead. The Hound found him and ran him down.”

“No!” Arya’s shout seemed all the louder for the lateness of the hour. Sansa herself was horrified. She’d never wanted Arya’s dirty friend to _die_. That was all wrong. Things weren’t supposed to happen like this.

“I’m afraid so,” their father said. “The body is being attended to.”

“It’s not fair,” Arya said furiously. “I asked him to play with me. I _asked_ him. It wasn’t his idea.”

“Your idea or not, young Mycah suffered for it. Do you know aught of his family? I will pay them blood money myself.” 

Arya looked down. “I only know he was the butcher’s boy.” 

“Then before we leave tomorrow, you and I will go to the butcher. Do not blame yourself for any of this, Arya, but remember. We are not in Winterfell any longer. People will not look so kindly on a lord’s daughter playing with the sons of tradesmen.”

Sansa pitied Arya then. Everything would be so much easier if Arya liked what she was supposed to like, but all the same her sister looked so unhappy.

Now that they were all so miserable, their father reached out. He took one of Sansa’s hands in one of his own, and Arya’s hand in the other. “I will not let either of you come to harm because of this.”

Sansa stole a glance at her sister. Arya’s eyes were red. She felt her own were itching with tiredness and fear. She still had not seen Lady yet. She wanted her wolf. 

“It’s late,” her father said. “Tomorrow we will ride on ahead of the royal party. I want the both of you away from the queen and the prince. There was no lasting harm done to either of you – this time. Let’s leave it there for now.”

And Sansa was too tired to fight more about it. But before she went to her bed, she went to where Lady was tied. The direwolf licked her hand when she approached. “You’d never bite anyone,” Sansa said. “I know it.”

 

\---

 

It was about midmorning before her father’s party accelerated ahead of the King’s. They were not far from King’s Landing now, Septa Mordane had told her. Only a few days. Sansa had scarce paid attention, occupied with brushing Lady’s coat until it was free of tangles and her coarse fur was as smooth and shiny as it ever could be.

Lady was a _good_ wolf. She _was_. Sansa would show them all. Even the Queen, if she had to. 

Once Lady was brushed, Sansa unchained her. If they weren’t going to be near her prince, it would be all right, she was sure of it. She just wanted Lady close by, just for a little while.

Septa Mordane sighed when she saw Lady trot into their carriage at Sansa’s heels. “Sansa, child, you cannot keep doing that,” she said.

“She won’t be any trouble,” Sansa said. “She won’t bother the horses back here either.” 

“And what will you do when that wolf of yours gets too big for the carriage?”

Sansa smiled. “Then she’ll be big enough to keep up with it herself."

After the midday meal, Sansa did let Lady out to run. It was something Lady had in common with all hounds, she had been told. Dog or wolf, they both needed to run. 

Arya was outside. Her eyes were very red. Sansa looked down at Lady, and then back at her sister.

Last night, Arya had said that Nymeria had run off, she remembered. Now that she thought about it, Sansa didn’t believe it. Lady wouldn’t run away from her. Why would Nymeria run away from Arya? If Jory Cassel had known that the Queen meant to kill Nymeria, he would have done something. Surely.

Sansa started towards her sister, Lady at her heels, but Arya ran off before she could say anything.

So she went to find her father instead. He looked tired and ill, almost as bad as he had in the days after Bran fell. But he still smiled at her when he saw her. “Sansa,” he said.

“Father,” she began, and then hesitated. How to continue? She decided on the truth, as her father had instructed her to speak. “I don’t believe Arya’s wolf really ran off.” 

Her father’s smile grew a touch wider. “Indeed?” 

“Nymeria wouldn’t run away from Arya.”

“No,” her father said. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“Then-“ Sansa began, but her father raised a hand to quiet her.

“Sansa,” he said, “This will be our secret. Yours, mine, Arya’s and Jory’s. Be kind to your sister, if you please. This has not been easy on her.”

_It would all have been fine if Nymeria hadn’t bitten Joffrey_ , Sansa thought resentfully. But her father was right too. Poor Arya would be missing her wolf. And, well, Joff _had_ been perhaps a touch dishonourable to Arya. She was only little. He oughtn’t have tried so hard to hit her. “I will,” she said.

“You are not to tell anyone,” her father told her. “Especially not Joffrey or Cersei.”

That made Sansa frown. Not to tell her prince? How would he ever love her, or even like her, if she kept secrets from him? “I promise,” Sansa said nevertheless. “Not even Joffrey, I promise.”

“There’s more,” her father continued. “Once we reach the Red Keep, you will be spending an hour every day with the kennelmasters, you understand? On top of your lessons and the training you give that wolf already.” Father must have been able to see her dismay. An hour! Every day! Even at Winterfell Sansa hadn’t spent an hour in the kennels for the past two years together. But he was utterly unyielding. “If you are to keep your wolf, you must train it better than any dog. You cannot have it-“

“Lady isn’t an _it_ ,” Sansa interrupted.

Her father did not correct her rudeness, and instead corrected himself. “You cannot have _her_ ,” he said, “attack anyone who seems threatening. If you cannot keep Lady under your complete control, sooner or later someone will demand she be killed. So you will learn to train hounds, Sansa, or I will have that wolf sent back to Winterfell before anyone comes to harm.”

Sansa remembered how the queen had said _we have a wolf_ , and how the king had said, _damn you, woman, that girl’s wolf didn’t bite your son, let her keep her pet._ “I understand,” she said, frightened.

An hour every day. Even if the kennels smelled awful, she could do it. They would let her have a bath every day in the Red Keep, just like they did at Winterfell. And there were some old riding clothes in the bottom of her trunk, she could wear them rather than dirty any of her nice gowns. 

When she told Jeyne what her father had ordered, her friend wrinkled up her nose. “It’s not very ladylike, is it?” 

“No,” Sansa said. She would do whatever she had to in order to keep Lady, but the thought of getting dog fur – or worse, dog leavings – on any of her clothing bothered her. 

“You could just leave Lady to the kennelmasters,” Jeyne suggested. “They must have the best at the Red Keep.”

“I couldn’t!” Sansa protested. It was unthinkable. “Lady is _mine_.” 

“She’s not even a proper dog,” Jeyne said.

“She’s a direwolf.” In the songs direwolves were terrible creatures, gaunt and vicious. Before her brothers had presented her with Lady, Sansa had always imagined them as giant shadowy beasts with jaws always dripping blood, even if they were the symbol of her house. “I’m keeping her.”

Later still, Sansa tried to find Arya to tell her how very sorry she was about Nymeria (and how she knew Nymeria was still fine), but Arya was avoiding her.

 

\---

 

Arya continued to avoid her all the way to the Red Keep, and then it was impossible. Side by side they were ushered together through the Tower of the Hand, shown the halls and the solars and their new bedchambers.

“It’s lovely,” Sansa said with unfeigned happiness. Everything here was so very grand. She had never been anywhere so grand in her life.

“It’s smaller than Winterfell,” Arya said, “and it stinks.”

Sansa had to admit, the Red Keep _was_ smaller. She thought it was prettier, though.  Just past those towers was the Blackwater – she couldn’t see it from here, of course, but as they approached they had seen it sparkling in the sunlight. And on the hill opposite, there was the Great Sept of Baelor. Sansa wanted to visit there too. Winterfell was just grey, grey and gloomy, no matter how bright the sun shone outside.

But first, she took Arya’s arm. “Come on, I want to see your bedchamber too!”

Arya wrenched away as soon as she could. “Get off me,” she hissed. “What do you want, anyway? You’ve been following me around.” 

“I have not been _following_ you,” Sansa sniffed. “I just wanted to tell you I know Nymeria didn’t run off like you told the king and queen she did.” 

Fear flashed across her sister’s face. “You can’t tell! If you tell, I’ll – I’ll – I’ll tear up all your gowns.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sansa said. Arya might. Arya _might_ do just about anything. But she wouldn’t let Arya know how worried she was about that. “And I wasn’t going to tell.” 

“It’s all your fault anyway,” Arya said furiously. “If you’d just told the truth-“

“Stop it!” Sansa shrieked, unable to stand it any longer. “It’s not my fault! I just wanted to say sorry!”

“It is too your fault!” Arya shouted back.

“I just want him to like me!”

Arya understood who she meant instantly. “Joffrey’s a little shit, everyone thinks so but you, even the king, he’s never going to like you!”

Sansa choked. It felt like there was something stuck in her chest. “No,” she said, much more quietly. “No, he has to like me. We’re supposed to get married. He’s supposed to like me. He _has_ to like me.”

_Don’t touch me._ No, she couldn’t remember how he looked at her then. She couldn’t. He’d been so charming before. It had all been going so well.

_He’s never going to like you._

Sansa fled. She ran to Lady and stayed with her wolf until she felt better.

 

\---

 

The kennels were _not_ grand. No kennels ever were. Sansa had dressed plain and tied her hair well up and back. She did not want it to get dirty.

The Red Keep’s kennelmaster, a man named Forson, nevertheless shook his head when he saw her. “I was told to expect you, Lady Sansa,” he said. “Begging your pardon, my lady, you don’t look the type to have an interest in hunting hounds. I’m not sure it would be appropriate for…well…”

Sansa put on her best smile. “I have a very great interest in training my direwolf, ser,” she said. “My lord father thought you might best be able to help me.”

She saw his eyes widen at the mention of a direwolf. “Surely you jest, my lady.”

“No jest, ser,” she said. “My brothers and sister and I all were given a pup when my two eldest brothers found six in the snows outside Winterfell.” 

“Gods above,” the man said faintly.

“Are you still willing to teach me?” Sansa asked. There was a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. If he refused – he couldn’t refuse, her father had ordered him! – she wouldn’t be able to keep Lady. More than just about anything, she wanted to keep Lady. 

Forson ran a hand through his lank brown hair. “The Lord Hand asked specifically,” he said.

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” Sansa said. _Please, please, please._

He ran a hand through his hair again. It looked to Sansa as if he wanted to pull on it. “All right, my lady. I’ll see what I can do. I’m no direwolf trainer, but I do know something of hounds.” 

When Sansa stepped closer to the dogs, however, they all growled at her, and cringed away. “Oh,” Sansa said, strangely disappointed. The dogs at Winterfell had taken to avoiding her and her siblings too.

“It must be the direwolf,” Forson said. He still didn’t quite sound like he believed she had one. “They would be able to smell it on you, Lady Sansa.”

“I don’t want them to be afraid of me,” she said.

The kennelmaster shrugged. “It does no harm for your hounds to be a little afraid of you. That’s how to keep the most vicious ones in line.” He set her to work with one of his proper apprentices, bringing food for the dogs, great bleeding hunks of meat not fit for the tables. She tried not to shudder at the feeling of the slimy fat on her fingers. Even the biggest, meanest-looking hounds dared not snap at her. After that she watched as a few scraggly-looking pups were taught to heel.

Sansa did not say that Lady already knew how to heel; had been taught when she was even littler than these pups. Lady had known what to do almost as soon as Sansa asked.

Nor was Lady scared of her. The direwolf sniffed at Sansa’s clothing when she returned from the kennels, then submitted to Sansa scratching behind her ears.

“You don’t like it here,” Sansa said, suddenly and strangely certain of it. “Poor Lady. Are there too many buildings for you?” She sighed. “I’ll take you to the Kingswood soon, I promise. Or –“

Sansa was struck by a brilliant idea. “You’ll like this,” she told her direwolf.

If only she could get Arya to cooperate.

 

\---

 

“Will you help me look after Lady?” Sansa asked.

Arya dropped her gaze. She looked like she was going to say no. She was still angry and it wasn’t Sansa’s fault. 

Before Sansa could lose her temper and ruin it herself, without even being asked, Lady walked over and sat down near Arya’s feet, where Arya could scratch her ears just like Sansa did. Sansa beamed at how clever Lady was. “Please, Arya?” Sansa asked. “As a favour to me. Just while I’m at court.” 

“Don’t want to scare Joffrey?” Arya sneered, but she was already patting Lady.

Sansa hesitated. No, she did not want to scare her prince. He wouldn’t want to see Lady again, and she didn’t want him to see Lady, not if Queen Cersei still wanted to kill her. “I just thought you might like to,” she said, not wanting to admit any of it. Arya would only tell her Joff was horrible.

“All right,” Arya said, fingers still buried in Lady’s fur.

Impulsively, Sansa embraced her sister. “Thank you.”

Arya shifted uncomfortably in her arms. “Just while you’re with Joff,” she said. Then she sniffed. Sansa didn’t mention anything, since Arya didn’t like it when Sansa saw her cry. “I know you didn’t want Nymeria to leave.”

“I didn’t!” Sansa said. “I _never_.”

That actually made Arya smile. It had been a very long time since Arya smiled when Sansa was around. “You smell like dog,” Arya said. “Have you been in the _kennels_?” Her tone said clearly that the kennels were just about the last place she would expect to find Sansa.

Sansa flushed. “Father said I must. He threatened to send Lady back to Winterfell if I didn’t learn.” 

“He only wants Lady to bite the prince if you say so?” Arya asked.

“No,” Sansa shook her head. “No, not that at all. I don’t want to talk about Joff, please.” Arya would only say horrible things about him. Sansa didn’t want to listen. It wasn’t true, none of it was true. And she definitely didn’t want to think about Lady biting Joff either.

_We have a wolf._

Lady was _Sansa’s_.

Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa turned up her nose. That was more like she'd expected.

 

\---

 

Of course she was going to bring Lady to the tourney. Sansa had never even considered otherwise. Somewhat unusually for her, she had never even considered telling her father either. Father would only say no, that the tourney was no place for a direwolf. Sansa had had to beg to be allowed to go herself.

The tourney was also the best way for her to prove to Father that she had Lady trained completely. 

Her direwolf had grown a lot in the last few moons. Lady was as big as the pony Sansa had learned to ride on now, and her teeth were long and sharp. If she wasn’t Sansa’s, she’d be afraid herself.

“How can you stand it?” Jeyne asked her one day. “Your wolf is _scary._ ”

Sansa hadn’t known how to explain that she couldn’t be frightened of Lady, not like Jeyne or any of her maids was. It would be like being afraid of her own hands. “We’ve worked hard,” Sansa said. “She’s a good girl.”

Lady had retreated to a corner of Sansa’s room. She knew to do that when Jeyne came in to speak with Sansa. But now Sansa wanted Jeyne’s opinion about something relating to Lady. “Do you think she would look nice with a ribbon?” Sansa asked.

Jeyne stared.

“I’m serious,” Sansa said. “Just one ribbon, around her neck. Almost like a collar.”

With a visible effort, her friend mustered her courage. “What colour gown are you planning to wear on the first day?”

“I thought sky blue,” Sansa said. “But I don’t think sky blue would go well with Lady’s fur. Or lilac, and that was my second choice of gown.”

“Perhaps a darker blue,” Jeyne suggested.

Sansa thought about it. “I know the dressmakers here have a bolt of good blue velvet,” she said, “Like the night sky. And then I shall wear darker colours throughout the rest of the tourney, too.”

“They’ll show up against Lady’s coat,” Jeyne agreed. “As long as you match.” 

In the end Sansa ordered ribbons made in dark blue, dark green, dark grey, and white. Except for the white all were colours that would show against Lady’s fur. The white ribbon would be for when Sansa wanted her direwolf to wear the colours of her house. 

Of course, she had to tie them around Lady’s neck herself. Nobody except Arya and Father would get anywhere near her direwolf anymore, and neither Arya nor Father thought that a direwolf would accept a decorative ribbon.

They were wrong, Sansa thought, as she tied the bow and adjusted it so it stayed well clear of Lady’s jaws.

And the midnight blue worked very well against Lady’s smoke-grey fur indeed.

 

\---

 

The day before the tourney began was a day when Arya looked after Lady, but Sansa needed her wolf so she could make sure Lady was perfectly groomed.

After weeks of working in the kennels she was even better at it. Grooming was a large part of keeping a hound healthy, she had learned. Not that the hounds liked it when Sansa checked their teeth and jowls, smelling the direwolf on her, but she knew how to do it.

She walked into the Small Hall to find Arya lunging at a skinny bald man with a wooden sword.

“I thought you were supposed to be dancing!”

Arya jerked upright abruptly, and earned a rap on the elbow from the man’s wooden sword. She didn’t yell, just turned to look at Sansa like a deer facing down a hunter.

“Lady Arya learns to dance,” the man said. “She is distracted by that which she ought not be distracted, hmm?”

“I was not distracted!” Arya protested, whirling back around. 

“And now when your sister entered, you have lost your arm, girl. Just so. A terrible sight for a lady to see.”

Sansa was confused, but she looked to the corner of the hall to see her direwolf was unbothered. She knew Lady would help Arya if she were in any real trouble. “This is _swords_ ,” Sansa said, and Arya spun back around to face her.

“Father said I could,” Arya said mutinously. “He found Syrio and everything.”

“Your father, he was hiring,” the dancing master confirmed. The _sword_ master said. 

“It is my pleasure to meet you,” Sansa said, because even if she was confused, she knew her courtesies.

“Likewise,” her sister’s teacher said. “But if you will excuse us, Lady Sansa, your sister is needing to learn her lessons.” 

“Oh! I just came for my direwolf. Lady, come.” Obediently, the direwolf trotted over, and Sansa let herself out. She did not hurry.

Behind her, she heard Arya say, “I was _not_ distracted,” and Sansa shut the door on “Why is your elbow smarting, armless girl?”

She spent the rest of the afternoon brushing out Lady’s coat. Arya could tangle her direwolf’s fur just by getting near it, it seemed. “I just don’t understand _why_ ,” Sansa said to Lady. The wolf was smart enough to understand, she would swear it. “Why would she ever want to learn swords? It ruins your clothing, all that sweat, and it’s not like she’s ever going to need to fight, not like our brothers.”

Lady tilted her head. 

“I’ve been through enough clothing working in the kennels. But that’s different. Father made me.” Now that she was used to it, it wasn’t so bad. She still wouldn’t do it if her father hadn’t made it a condition of keeping Lady. “I hope Arya doesn’t come to the tourney tomorrow.” She might want to fight in the melee next. And then what would Sansa’s prince think?

Lady had no reply. Sansa sighed. “It’ll be wonderful tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll see.”

 

\---

 

When her father saw them, he started. “Sansa,” he said, “Did you put a _ribbon_ on that wolf?”

“You said to train her,” Sansa said. It matched and everything, and together Sansa knew she and Lady looked even better than she had hoped. 

Her father started to laugh. “Sansa, precious girl, you don’t often remind me of my sister, but that is exactly the sort of thing she would have done. What _will_ your mother think?”

“That I have trained my direwolf well,” Sansa replied without hesitation. 

Her father smiled again, and she realised she had not seen him look so happy in a long time. Not since they left Winterfell. Not since Bran fell. “Of course. Sansa of House Stark, I must compliment you on your fine choice of accessories for your first tourney, and your direwolf as well.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said.

 

\---

 

The tourney was everything she’d dreamed of and more, even if she did have to explain again and again that Lady wouldn’t hurt anyone, she was a _tame_ direwolf.

“She is a direwolf, though,” Jeyne said. Sansa’s friend had found her courage where the wolf was concerned, perhaps in the face of so many people edging away from Lady frightened. She gingerly offered Lady a scrap of ham. “I mean, those teeth! They’re scary.”

“But you’re feeding her now,” Sansa said with satisfaction. “Please not too much more, I don’t want her to get fat.”

“I heard someone ask your father why he let you near Lady.”

“Really?” Sansa asked. “What did my father say?” 

“That he would not let you near that wolf if you had not proved you could handle her,” a new voice said.

It belonged to a short, slight man who, alone of the people who had approached them, did not spare a glance for Lady. Sansa took a minute to recognise him; she knew all the knights, but Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin, was no knight. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, “but you look so much like your mother. So very beautiful.”

Sansa did not like the look in his grey-green eyes. Lady showed a bit of tooth. That made the man take note, though he still did not seem afraid. “But you seem to have a true direwolf there, so I shall leave you alone. Perhaps another time, when your, ah, chaperone, is more forgiving.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Sansa said. “Please, forgive my wolf, she would not hurt a fly, I swear.” What had got into her? Lady almost never showed her teeth to anyone. 

Lord Baelish raised an eyebrow. “Unless you should command it, no doubt.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine ever ordering Lady to attack anyone. She _could_ , she supposed, but Lady wasn’t like Nymeria and Sansa wasn’t like Arya. She’d never really wanted to hurt anyone, not badly, not truly. 

“I’ve disturbed you. My apologies, my lady.” He raised a hand and briefly stroked Sansa’s face.

Lady growled, but Baelish was already leaving.

“That was strange,” said Jeyne.

“I don’t think I like him,” said Sansa.

As the day wore on Sansa began to hope that her prince would pay some attention to her. He was here, of course, not far down the stands in the royal box, and she knew he knew she was here, but he had not asked for her presence. 

_He’s never going to like you_ , Arya’s voice said in the back of her mind. Sansa ignored it.

It was because she’d brought Lady that Joff ignored her, she knew. Joff hated Nymeria and had wanted Lady killed in her place, just like the Queen had. She couldn’t think about that. If she was going to marry Joff, either he would have to get used to Lady, or – or – 

She could not bear the thought of sending Lady away. Not for more than an afternoon. A day, at most.

But on the second day she left Lady with Arya. She’d shown her father that she’d trained Lady well. Lady hadn’t been any trouble at all, except for growling at Lord Baelish. Hopefully Joffrey had seen as well, but now he needn’t trouble himself.

He invited her to the feast at the end. She’d been right. Her heart soared.

“I see you left your dog behind,” Joffrey said to her when she approached him. “Good.” 

“Lady isn’t a dog, your grace,” she said.

Joff scowled. “No, it’s worse. It’s a savage beast. I’ll slay it for you one day, so you can have its pelt.”

_Lady isn’t an_ it. _Lady’s a she. It’s in her name._ It was getting harder and harder not to think of this sort of thing, but she had to try. She had to get Joffrey to like her. But he wasn’t, despite everything Sansa could do, he just wasn’t. It wasn’t fair. Sansa hadn’t done anything wrong. “I would rather you didn’t,” Sans said, and tried to smile. “I like Lady just as she is.”

After that he wouldn’t speak to her. Nothing. Not a word. It was like she wasn't there.

Sansa looked around and felt afraid. The prince wasn’t speaking to her. Her father had gone to do something else. Septa Mordane was drunk. Surrounded by people, she felt very alone all of a sudden If Lady had been with her she would not have hesitated a second to walk all the long way back to the Red Keep. Instead, she waited, and waited, and eventually Jory Cassel came to walk her back.

Everything with Joff seemed like it was going wrong.

 

\---

 

Some weeks later, Sansa was embroidering a handscarf for Joffrey (perhaps _that_ would fix what had gone wrong?) when a man came in with a message for Septa Mordane. Sansa watched as the septa went white in the face.

“Sansa, dear,” she said, “You’re needed at once.”

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked.

“It’s your father. He’s been injured badly.”

Sansa did not run. Ladies did not run. They did hurry, though, and Sansa did that, Lady at her heels. And yet she halted at the door. “Is it all right to go in?” she asked Vayon Poole, waiting outside. “I won’t be disturbing the maesters?”

“No, Sansa,” her friend’s father said. “You may go in, but let him sleep.”

Not so long ago, she had prayed with her mother over Bran’s bedside. That had been a hard thing to do. He’d been so quiet. So still. He’d looked like he was just asleep.

Simply opening the door was more difficult than even that. Bran was her little brother, and Sansa had looked after him before. This was her _father._ Her father had looked after _her_. He looked after them all. 

And now he was the one lying unconscious, but not still, in his fever sleep. “His leg is broken,” the old Grand Maester told her, when Sansa pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Not the bone of the thigh, thank the gods, but it is bad.” 

They had already splinted it, Sansa saw. She took her father’s hand. It was too warm, and damp with sweat. 

Not long afterwards, Arya burst into the room and flew to their father’s side as well. She looked as though she’d run straight from one of her dancing lessons. “Is he going to be all right?” she demanded of the Grand Maester. 

The old man did not seem offended. “If his fever breaks, yes,” he said.

“Good,” said Arya. She pulled up a chair too and settled in to wait in silence. Lady padded over from Sansa’s side to lean against Arya for a while. _How could anyone be scared of Lady when she knows how to help us?_  

When the maester was gone, Arya at last spoke. “Jory’s dead,” she said. “I heard them saying.”

“Jory?” Sansa couldn’t believe it. “What happened? They only told me Father was hurt.” 

“I don’t know,” Arya said. “Something about the Kingslayer. Father was coming back from somewhere and they attacked him and killed all our men and left Father in the street.”

Sansa shook her head. Sometime in the past hour, her hair had come loose from its style. She couldn’t even care that much. 

“I hate it here,” Arya said. “I want to go home.” 

“I want Mother,” Sansa whispered. Their mother would know what to do. Their mother always knew what to do.

Arya looked even more unhappy, but she nodded.

Sansa started to say something else, but the door burst open again, and the King himself entered. “Damn it, Ned!” he shouted, not seeming to notice that Sansa and Arya were even in the room. He was very red in the face and smelled like wine. “You couldn’t even let me have the afternoon to be angry with you!”

Arya looked at Sansa. Sansa looked at Arya. “Your grace,” Sansa said, in a small voice, “I don’t believe my father can hear you.”

The king blinked. “Oh. Well, girl, better to shout at him while he can’t hear, then. I’ve had enough of his chilly glare anyway.”

Once again Sansa exchanged a glance with her sister. _What was he talking about?_ “I’m sure my father would apologise, if he were awake,” Sansa ventured. Behind the king’s back, Arya rolled her eyes.

The king did too, to Sansa’s surprise. “Doubtful. Ned’s always right. Always. But I don’t want him to die, rest assured.” He managed to focus on them both, then. “You’ll be looked after, either way. You’re Ned’s daughters, so you have my word on that.”

Sansa and Arya both said “thank you, your grace.” 

But the king didn’t seem to hear. He just left. From beyond the door, they heard him order Vayon Poole to send for him know the instant their father woke. “The moment he opens his eyes I want him to come to me,” he said.

After he was gone, Sansa said, “I think they fought.”

“I think he was drunk,” Arya said, nose wrinkled.

That too. Sansa didn’t like how much the king drank. In the songs, the kings didn’t get drunk in the middle of the day like that. “We might go back to Winterfell after all,” Sansa said. “If Father fought with the king, and if he’s injured –“

The thought was uncomfortable. She loved it in the capital. There was so much to do, so much to see. She still wanted to make Joff fall in love with her and be queen one day. But she missed her mother and her brothers and Lady didn’t like it here either. Nor did her father, nor did Arya.

“Good,” Arya said. Her eyes were very hard. 

Their father stirred and mumbled. He was shivering, as though the room was cold. But he would get better. The Grand Maester himself had said so. _If Father gets better, I won’t complain if he takes us back to Winterfell,_ Sansa thought. _I won’t. I really won’t_.

In the meantime, she had an idea. “Lady,” Sansa said, “Stay with Father.”

Light as a cat (a cat roughly the size of a pony), her direwolf jumped onto the bed next to him and lay down. “Good girl,” Sansa said.

 

\---

 

It was a week before their father woke, and all that time Sansa and Arya contrived so that one of them or Lady would be with him always. “You girls could not have set a better guard,” Alyn told them on the fifth day. He was captain of the guard now that Jory was dead. Sansa still couldn’t quite believe it.

Vayon Poole, on the other hand, said, “Your father will be pleased that you and your sister are getting along so well.”

She and Arya _had_ been getting along fairly well. It seemed like they hadn’t _really_ fought for a while. Perhaps it was the “dancing lessons.” They meant Arya wasn’t always with her and Jeyne and trying to sew and getting in Sansa’s way.

Their father woke on the seventh morning, but they were not sent for immediately. The king wanted to see their father first, Vayon Poole said, and the queen as well.

“It better be to apologise,” Arya fumed as they waited, hidden around the corner from their father’s room. They had been right, that first day. Father had fought with King Robert and the Kingslayer.

“Shush,” Sansa hissed. Ladies didn’t eavesdrop, but this was one of only a very few things that was more important than being ladylike. Besides, Arya was the only one watching. It was no good, though, she couldn’t hear anything.

The queen left first, with one of the Kingsguard who had been left outside, and Sansa saw that she had a large red mark across her face. “It looks like someone hit her,” Arya said. “I bet it was the king.”

Sansa was scandalised, but there were only three people and Lady in that room, and their father wouldn’t hit a woman.

Not long afterwards, the king left too, and once they were gone, their father sent for them at last.

“Were you hiding around the corner?” he asked with a tired smile. Lady was still lying next to him, dark golden eyes watchful. “Never mind. I know you were.”

Sansa flushed, but Arya grinned and threw herself at him. Their father fended her off. “Careful, Arya. Neither of us want to undo the maester’s good work.” 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Father,” Sansa said.

“For a given measure of better,” their father said. “I suppose I have you to thank for my companion, but I think it would be wise to keep her out of Robert’s sight from now on. She did not take kindly to anyone shouting at me, and direwolves, it seems, are no respecters of crowns.” 

Arya’s grin almost stretched off her face when she heard that. Sansa, though, was filled with dismay. “He won’t hurt her, will he?” she asked.

Her father looked at her very seriously. His eyes were still very tired. “I won’t let him.”

Then Sansa smiled herself.

 

\---

 

Lady stayed at her heels as Sansa went to her father’s solar. Sansa hadn’t brought her direwolf with her that morning since most of the courtiers were terrified of her. After Sansa had done her usual hour in the kennels, she had taken her direwolf for a run in the godswood, and now she planned to spend the rest of the afternoon sewing peacefully, Lady nearby chewing on a bone.

The summons from her father was serious. Sansa knew it had to be serious. Father had just sent most of his guards away, she’d seen him do it in court. There was fighting somewhere in the Riverlands. Those men had spoken about it.

“I’m looking for a trading galley to take the two of you back to Winterfell,” her father announced. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay in the capital.”

Sansa had been expecting something like that ever since she and Arya had spoken the first day after their father was wounded. “Must we?” she asked. She had promised the gods that if her father recovered she wouldn't complain. She ought not go back on it. The gods would know. It would be ungrateful of her.

“Yes, Sansa, I’m afraid you must.” 

“Can we take Syrio with us?” Arya asked.

Their father blinked. “If he agrees to enter my service. I must say, I expected a bit more of a fight from you two.” 

“I don’t want to leave,” Sansa said. “I like it here.” She put on a brave smile. “But I like Winterfell as well. I would like to see Mother again. Robb and Bran and Rickon too.”

Father shook his head. “You must know that I will also be cancelling your betrothal to Joffrey. It was all a terrible mistake. I should not have agreed to it in the first place.” 

That hurt. “No!” she protested. “No, Father, you don’t have to go that far!”

Arya shook her head. “I told you he’d never like you. Why are you being so _stupid_ about him?”

Joff was handsome, the most handsome boy she’d ever seen in her life, the sort of prince she’d heard songs about all her life. And he’d been so charming some of the time –

\- but he hadn’t spoken to her since the tourney. He was scared of Lady, she knew, and she had no plans to get rid of her direwolf. 

“The boy is no Prince Aemon, I assure you,” her father said. _He’s a little shit and everyone can see it but you._ Arya had said that a long time ago. “When you’re a bit older, Sansa, I’ll find you someone else. Another great lord, just as handsome, but clever and brave and gentle as well. Someone worthy of you.”

She was crying and she didn’t even know why.

_He’s never going to like you._

Beside her, Lady looked up at her. Not so very far up. The direwolf had got _big_. The queen had wanted to kill her. Lady had only been a pup. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she hadn’t bitten anyone, it hadn’t been fair, and her prince had wanted Lady dead too. 

“All right,” Sansa choked out. “All right, Father.”

Her father sighed with relief. “Thank you, Sansa.”

 

\---

 

The _Wind Witch_ didn’t look like much, but Arya was ecstatic. “I can’t wait to leave,” she said. Her dancing master had agreed to come with them. She was happy with that. Sansa didn’t know how their mother would react to finding out Arya had been learning swords.

As for herself, Sansa felt more glum than anything else. She truly did love King’s Landing. She wanted to go to more tourneys, more balls, everything. Winterfell had nothing like it.

But the rest of her family was there. There was that.

“It’ll be an adventure,” Arya said. “It won’t be so bad.” 

Sansa had never been on a ship before. “Do you think Lady will like it?” Sansa asked. She’d never heard of a direwolf on a ship before. She didn’t even know how well direwolves could swim.

Her sister shrugged. “Probably not.”

“It would have been nicer to go by the Kingsroad,” Sansa said. “Then maybe we could have found Nymeria for you.”

Arya frowned. “Nymeria will come home too,” she insisted. "Eventually. Father too."

Lady balked a bit at boarding the galley, but Sansa had trained her well, and she eventually trotted up the gangplank. Someone – Vayon Poole, she thought – had warned the captain and crew about her. They looked at her direwolf nervously, but they saw how close she stayed to Sansa and kept quiet.

Their father smiled at them from the dock. It had pained him to travel down to see them off, she knew, and he was probably sorry to see them leave as well. “Be good, my girls,” he called up. “Give my love to your brothers.” 

“We will!” Arya shouted back. Sansa, standing next to her, nodded, because ladies didn’t shout.

Then, with a shout and a creak and a splash of oars, they were off. Sansa hated the motion of the ship instantly, but she didn’t want to show that either. Instead, she went to her cabin, where Lady was whining unhappily.

“Don’t cry,” Sansa told her direwolf, “We’ll be home soon. It’ll be an adventure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm on tumblr now, if anyone cares to pester me over there. 
> 
> http://turtle-paced.tumblr.com


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